Chat Back: I am terrified of graphic design

It’s not the product I fear. Present me with a piece of design to simply appreciate and I'm fine. Ask me to critique it and I'm generally pretty comfortable. Charge me with producing the piece myself, however, and it’s a completely different story.

I’m not talking about typesetting, image selection, colour mixing or the arranging of elements on a page. While occasionally frustrating, I usually find those parts of the process quite enjoyable. It's the bit before that I can't stand.

I'm referring to the process of having an original, interesting and relevant idea. I dread this process. I find it agonising.

As soon as I receive a brief I immediately feel uneasy. I sleep badly, I worry day and night and I scribble furiously in my book. Until I have something resembling an interesting, original idea I am – as far as I’m concerned – useless.

Any talent I may have had has expired. Any clever idea I’ve had in the past, a fluke. And anyone who tells me otherwise is either a liar, my partner Sarah, or both.

There is help of course. There are loads of books out there about idea generation. Famous thinkers and designers are often happy to reveal their process which can, at times, help guide you along.

But no matter how many books you read or tips you get there is still that leap that can only be made in the mind. It's the leap that takes you from “good” to “great,” from “pretty sure I’ve seen it” to “I wish I’d done it,” from  “that’s nice” to “man (long pause) that is nice.”

The possibility that I won’t be able to make that leap scares the shit out of me.

I remember at the last studio I was at I was fortunate to work on (and eventually win) a pitch for Sydney’s Bell Shakespeare Company. They wanted a complete overhaul – identity, seasonal campaign, brochures, posters, photo shoot – the whole shebang.

Great I thought. Fuck I thought. I remember our managing director swinging past my desk days before we were due to pitch and asking me how it was going. Awful I said, having not had a single worthy thought.

She was confused. She couldn't understand how one of the nicest jobs in the studio was so painful to work on. That’s precisely why it was painful, I told her. It had to be new. It had to be clever. It had to be great. And until I was anywhere near a solution that fit that bill, I was miserable.

As painful as I find the whole process, I also truly believe there is no other way. For me, hoping for greatness means a state of constant panic and self doubt. The moment it becomes easy is the moment I'll know I could be trying harder.